


I wear these scars, I own my mistakes

by crookedspoon



Series: I never liked that ending either [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apologies, Body Modification, Fights, Gen, Joseph Kavinsky Lives, POV Ronan Lynch, Rehabilitation, Resentment, Work In Progress, perhaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 03:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11935020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: A year after the disastrous Fourth of July party, Kavinsky suddenly comes out of the woodwork to apologize for what he's done.





	I wear these scars, I own my mistakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doctorkaitlyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/gifts).



> Written for wipweek day #2 "Your Favourite WIP."
> 
> My favourite WIP is actually the [roadtrip AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/780615) but that one is going to be a monster I am not prepared to write yet. So I present you with my Rehab AU, which I am probably going to post in individual instalments instead of a chaptered work (if at all), so look out for yet another Series by yours truly once I've found a title for it.
> 
> So I had this idea back in November 2016 and last prodded it in December of the same year. I only recently got a new idea of where to take this, which rekindled my excitement to work on this. ~~I just barely managed to finish this on time for the wipweek challenge, so this isn't edited one bit. I'm sorry for the quality.~~ ETA: Here's a [playlist on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/crookedspoon/playlist/7vpBzePOUluVUoGyxsmPql) for this AU.

Today could have been a good day. And not just because the weatherman had predicted sunny skies with not a cloud in sight.

No, Ronan had something to look forward to. Something he’d been looking forward to all year. They hadn’t agreed on a time since traffic was arbitrary, but Ronan had been straining his ears since the sun had peeked above the treetops.

He’d dropped his dishrag at the first crunch of gravel beneath tires. Opal had bounded past him, parsing the reckless excitement he felt but couldn’t express. _Finally..._

It was short-lived excitement.

Opal stopped dead in her tracks just as she’d thrown open the door. Ronan nearly bumped into her. She’s not a frightened creature, usually, but she is wary around unknown entities. She scurried behind his legs, clutching the fabric of his jeans and peering hesitantly at the newcomer in the yard, eyes as large as soup bowls.

If she hadn’t been standing stiffly like a stone statue right behind him so that he might have bowled her over if he turned, he would have done just that, turned on his heels and thrown the door shut right then and there, trusting the message to be clear even if the message would have been disregarded.

At least then Opal would not have had to witness the quarrel that was undoubtedly to follow.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked. He couldn't help the growl in his voice. Anger tightened his throat.

Ronan had thought that if he never had to see Kavinsky’s face again it would be too soon. He'd thought that if their paths ever crossed again, he would be unable to stop himself from beating Kavinsky to a bloody pulp for what he had done to Matthew.

He didn't think he'd be trying to stay civil. His version of civil anyway. If only for Opal’s sake.

"Nice digs, man." Kavinsky leaned against the nose of his car, arms crossed in front of him.

Even his voice was grating to his ears. Ronan was ready to breathe fire and he didn't care if Kavinsky had been burnt enough already.

He was spared the sight of his scars, hidden under the short sleeves and collar of his shirt as they were, but he remembered the sight of red, red skin on a broken, lifeless body.

So it wasn't a huge leap when he had mistaken him for a ghost, at first. Ronan had experience with ghosts and Kavinsky certainly looked the part next to his white Focus RS, pale and wraith-like and nearly dissolving into the car’s paint job. Except for his arms, which had gained a little more definition since the last time Ronan saw him, and a lot more color besides. Visions of fire and blood were spattered across his biceps, nightmare shapes inked into flesh and banished.

It must have been, what, a year? More than that? He had filled out somewhat in the meantime, which was to say he was still lean but no longer sported the skeleton-chic of the malnourished. The differences didn’t end there, it was more than just skin-level. He was altogether a different creature, a strangely warped version of the Kavinsky he remembered.

Even behind his sunglasses, he was avoiding Ronan's gaze. He was avoiding looking at Ronan in the first place, without appearing to be doing that.

Ronan barely recognized him. And maybe that was the reason he wasn't already tearing him a new one. That, and Opal’s presence.

"Go inside," he told her. She looked up at him uncertainly for a moment, then narrowed her eyes at Kavinsky and zipped back into the house.

Ronan breathed easier.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

Not once since Ronan came out had Kavinsky's eyes settled on him. They kept flitting over his face, then away again. He never had trouble meeting Ronan's unflinching stares before, but now he actively avoided them. Ronan didn't like that.

"Straight to the point, huh? No 'it's been awhile, how've you been'?" Kavinsky moved his sunglasses to the top of his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "No, you're right, I guess I don't deserve that."

Kavinsky rubbed the white tunnel in his ear, gaze still averted, and breathed out slowly. When his eyes finally met Ronan's they were closer to the Kavinsky's he knew, but his gaze was not accompanied by the mean smirk he'd come to associate with him.

"I came here to apologize," he said. "For what I did back then. If you want to listen." A long, stuttering exhale. "Or I can come back some other time, if now is not convenient."

"Just get it over with," Ronan spat. He was not exactly keen on hearing anything Kavinsky had to say, but part of him wanted to see him grovel in the dirt and beg for forgiveness. It wouldn't erase any of the shit he had done, but it would certainly satisfy some base instinct Ronan was trying not to heed.

Kavinsky's "okay" to that was drawled and drawn out, more a question than anything else. "Don't you want to... say anything beforehand?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know, man. How you felt back then, how you maybe still feel."

"The fuck does it matter now?"

"I know that nothing I say will ever make it alright again," Kavinsky says, but his voice sounds like a drone, like he'd just memorized what to say, without meaning any of the words. Ronan's teeth gnashed together. "But I want you to know that I truly regret what I did. No matter how hurt I was, I shouldn't have done that."

"Done what exactly?" The anger Ronan had been trying to set aside this past year was resurfacing again. Kavinsky ought to count himself lucky that Matthew hadn't carried away any lasting injuries from the stunt he had pulled, physical or otherwise. Because if he had, Ronan would surely have bitten Kavinsky's face off by now. "Unless you're spelling it out, you're not apologizing for anything."

To his surprise, Kavinsky's face scrunched up. "You're right."

Ronan was taken aback by this statement, delivered without a protest as it was. He didn't recognize this Kavinsky, because this Kavinsky was a wreck. And considering he'd known him before, that was saying something. Kavinsky had simultaneously become a shadow of his former self and an upgraded version of the same, stripped down to his bare parts and reassembled with a new coat and finish. 

"I'm sorry," he continued. "I'm sorry for kidnapping and endangering your brother. I'm sorry for bringing him into this. I'm sorry if I traumatized him."

Ronan snorted as derisively as he could. "Not good enough." It took everything in him not to storm towards Kavinsky and deck him. God alone knew how much he wanted to. 

For the first time during their encounter, Kavinsky's eyes flashed. He spread his hands wide, a defensive gesture. "What more do you want? This is all I can say. I can't undo what happened. Believe me, if I could, I would have."

"Like hell you would."

"You don't think this has been on my mind for the past year?" Kavinsky snapped, and a hand slapped down hard on the hood of his car. "I could have imagined something better for us. But I fucked up, okay? I fucked up big time."

"For _us?_ " Ronan sneered, unconsciously moving closer. "There has never been any 'us.' That's what you never could accept."

Kavinsky was trembling then, hands balled into fists and ready for a fight. He didn't move any closer, but the tension in his muscles told Ronan everything he needed to know. "Whatever, man. I don't fucking care anymore, all right? I have questions and I need answers, and I think you can give them to me. So please, can we just put that shit aside already? I swear I won't bother you anymore after that."

"I don't have anything to say to you."

"It's important, man." Kavinsky took a step forward, then another. "This goes beyond just you and me."

"Should have thought of that before." Ronan crossed the last few paces between them and grabbed Kavinsky's shirt.

"You want a fight?" Kavinsky said and threw his sunglasses into the grass next to them, before taking a hold of Ronan's tank top. "Then let's get this over with."

Ronan was the first to throw a punch. Unexpectedly. Kavinsky just took it. He wavered only a little. His fists balled tighter into Ronan's top before he headbutted him.

Ronan's hand flew to his nose on instinct, to check for damage. Then he punched Kavinsky again. This time, Kavinsky staggered. When he'd caught his footing again, he launched himself at Ronan, inviting another attack. Ronan obliged him with a hook to his jaw. Kavinsky stumbled backwards.

This was pathetic. As if Kavinsky was able to hold a candle to him. Ronan would snuff it out without so much as a sneeze.

Still, he had to hand it to Kavinsky. He tried.

He launched himself at Ronan even as Ronan stepped aside and jabbed the edge of his palm into his ribs, sending him sprawling again. Kavinsky stood up, dirt smearing his clothes and blood running down his nose. Ronan would not admit that he was appealing like that, but he would admit that it made him want to punch Kavinsky all the more. Until his face was black and blue and unrecognizable.

He sent Kavinsky skidding to the ground on his back, then straddled his hips to pummel him some more. He wouldn't stop until he heard that satisfying _scrunch_ of cartilage breaking. Or so he thought. But then Kavinsky started laughing even as Ronan was turning his face the color of an eggplant.

"You feeling better now?" Kavinsky asked as Ronan shoved the back of his shoulders into the ground, and spat a mouthful of blood into the dirt. "Can we talk already?"

Ronan let go of him like a sack of dirty laundry. "I told you, I have nothing to say to you."

"Don't be like that, asshole. This is important."

Ronan huffed. "I don't fucking care, you dimwit. Should have thought of that before you threatened my family."

Kavinsky let his head drop back to the ground but his hands clung to Ronan's tank top. "Come on. I need to know. _Please._ "

Despite himself, Ronan released Kavinsky. His plea sounded genuine enough, but he still wasn't any more inclined to want to listen. He doubted there was anything Kavinsky could do to earn that privilege.

Ronan slammed Kavinsky's shoulders into the ground one last time, then let up. He got to his feet and dusted himself off. Through the corner of his eyes he caught Opal watching through the windows. That was a deciding factor. He didn't want to appear like a monster in front of her. So he offered Kavinsky a hand and pulled him upright.

That must have disoriented him more than anything.

Kavinsky snorted in amusement and brushed off his jeans. "That was fun," he said.

Ronan said nothing, just stood poised for another fight to break out. Kavinsky certainly didn't appear subdued enough.

"Okay," Kavinsky said, voice a hoarse whisper. "I get it. It's too early for you to chat."

And just in that moment, another car approached the two of them. It was the kind of rustic antique made up of three different cars Ronan had come to know intimately. One part of his heart sang as it espied the motley car, another wished it would have arrived about ten minutes later. Then this whole freakshow with Kavinsky would have been over and done with, and Adam wouldn't have needed to witness any of it.

Kavinsky eyed the approaching car, then pulled something out of his back pocket. It was only because Ronan was distracted by Adam's appearance that Kavinsky managed to invade his space and press a card into his hand. Otherwise he would have struck him flat on his back. Probably.

"Here's my number," Kavinsky rasped against Ronan's ear, one hand clasping his shoulder. "If you wanna do that again, or if you just need a punching bag, call me. I still need to know what happened."

When he released Ronan, his shoulder suddenly felt too light.

Adam got out of his car just as Kavinsky picked up his sunglasses and got into his, without another word or gesture, as if they had ceased to exist. Adam eyed the Ford suspiciously as it backed out of the driveway, no doubt trying to puzzle out the reason for his presence.

"What was that all about?" he asked, casting a dubious glance at Kavinsky's retreating car.

Ronan shook his head and stepped toward Adam. It was strange seeing him in the flesh again after such a long time and stranger still after his fight with Kavinsky. But enveloping him into arms felt natural, like an extension of himself. Adam took a moment or two to warm up to his embrace and melt into it. He smelled of sweat and summer and having spent entirely too much time cooped up in that shitty car of his. Yet it was a balm to his frayed nerves, nonetheless. He no longer wanted to think about Kavinsky's visit. It didn't matter what was so important to him that he had to confront Ronan after all this time.

"Want a shower first?" he asked Adam in lieu of telling him that he missed him.

"Just tell me that I stink already."

"You do," Ronan breathed into Adam's neck, "but I like it."

Adam cuffed him in the side and Ronan pressed a kiss below his ear. By that time, Opal had peeked past the doorframe, spotted a familiar face, and leaped out of the house to join them. She was hugging Adam's hips hard, and when Adam slid his hands from Ronan's back to ruffle her skullcap, she snatched one of them and pressed her cheek in his palm as soon as her face came close to it.

Her nostrils flared as she reacquainted herself with Adam's scent.

"What's with y'all smelling me today?" It pleased Ronan to no end that Adam's Henrietta accent was shining through. What didn't please him was that Adam kept looking over his shoulder as if he expected Kavinsky to return any second. Ronan very much hoped that wouldn't happen. He was incensed enough to break Kavinsky's back if he dared to return. "I am not that rank."

"Say that again once you've had that shower," Ronan said and shoved him toward the door of the Barns.

Adam must have sensed Ronan's agitation, because he let himself be shoved. "I'm starving. You promised me sandwiches. Now where are they?"

Opal perked up at the mention of food and dragged them both into the kitchen, where a plate of sandwiches was waiting beneath a curiously rounded bell jar. Opal had cut them up herself, she was proud to inform Adam.

Adam washed his hands in the sink and scrubbed them through his face once, before he helped Opal set the table. There was too much mayonnaise on the sandwiches and not enough of anything else, but what did you expect from a girl whose culinary preference skewed toward the wooden variety.

Ronan got himself and Adam a beer, so he would have something to do besides eating. Kavinsky's visit left him somewhat shaken, and more than a little ill. He didn't think he'd gotten any justice for Matthew, but then again, he hadn't been able to prepare for this encounter. He might have imagined it more times than he could count, but in none of his fantasy altercations had he expected Kavinsky to try and apologize. He would have expected him to stand his ground, to force Ronan to see the situation his way, but he didn't.

Ronan wasn't exactly sure what he did. It felt like nothing had been resolved.

His fingers touched Kavinsky's card through the fabric of his jeans. It was a burning reminder of the afternoon and it continued smoldering in his pocket even as he tried to relax and soak in Adam's reassuring presence. He shouldn't waste their time together being hung up on shit he couldn't change anymore.

Still, Ronan had the feeling this was far from over yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Made This Way" by The Word Alive.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm currently stockpiling prompts for the winter, in case you'd like to send me one. (Post [here](http://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com/post/164609128545/prompts-are-open), prompts tag [here](http://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com/tagged/prompts). Feel free to leave your prompts here if you don't have a tumblr. :D)
> 
> Rebloggable post for convenience: http://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com/post/164944259905/title-i-wear-these-scars-i-own-my-mistakes


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